


Smoke & Mirrors

by 12zodiac



Category: Jeon Jungkook - Fandom, Jung Hoseok - Fandom, Kim Namjoon - Fandom, Kim Seokjin - Fandom, Kim Taehyung - Fandom, Min Yoongi - Fandom, Park Jimin - Fandom, bts, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Blood, Drugs, Gang AU, Gen, Murder, Mystery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9547019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/12zodiac/pseuds/12zodiac
Summary: Min Yoongi's past is filled with a lot of demons, most of which he'd thought he'd eliminated when he abandoned and destroyed his criminal empire-- a hotbed of blood, drugs, death and sin. When one demon returns to haunt him, however, alive in the flesh, it seems that Yoongi will have to return to the same world he tried so hard to escape.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a repost from a scenario blog I'm an admin on, bangtan-scenario on tumblr!! The first 3 chapters are up on there, but I'll be ultimately continuing it here, on AO3. Now that that's our if the way, I hope you enjoy the strong and feel free to leave comments and kudos!! ;)

28th of May, 2010

Blood.

Blood in his hair, blood on his shoes, blood on his trousers. But never any on his hands.

Min Yoongi—or, Suga as so many of his enemies call him— was not a very patient man. Kinda the reason why the black-haired man lying on the ground next to him was coughing out blood each second that passed.  
“Get up, Namjoon,”

More blood.  
Suga kicked him again. And again. And again.  
“Get up, Namjoon. I’m not going to ask you anymore.”  
The black-haired boy looked at Suga with thinly veiled hate in his eyes. “Fuck you,” he mumbles. Suga takes a step towards him, and Namjoon can’t help but flinch. “What was that?” he whispers. Namjoon stays quiet. “That’s what I thought,” Suga smiles. Clapping his hands together and smiling, Suga takes a deep breath. “Now, where is my silver, Namjoon?”  
Namjoon begins to laugh. “When did it come to this, Yoongi? Was it when she died?”

Yoongi’s fists clench. Reaching into his right pocket, one of his fists just so happen to clench around his gun.  
“Or was it when he died? I don’t know why you’re tensing up, Yoongi, it’s not like you were made to watch them die, not like you were forced to see them tortured. Not like you were the one who had to identify the bodies even when I knew full well whose they–”

One gunshot rings throughout the room, just grazing the top of Namjoon’s head.

“Where is my silver, Namjoon.”  
Namjoon laughs again.  
“Why should I tell you? I owe you nothing. Anyway, Jaechul and Hana would be rolling in their graves if–”  
Two gunshots.  
One, lands in Namjoon’s shoulder.  
The other, lands way too close to his heart.

Namjoon collapses.

Yoongi isn’t seen for five years.

1st of January, 2015

Music plays softly in the background, as 4 revellers sit around the TV watching the new year countdown, while one dozes in the corner. The oldest of them speaks. “Can somebody go and wake up Jaechul please? It’s almost 12 and we gotta give him the cake.” The youngest of the bunch, Taehyung volunteers. “Happy new year, hyung!” Moon Jaechul rubs his eyes, still drowsy from post company drinks. “It’s 12 already?” He yawns, stretching. The young boy nods in excitement. “Come on, lets go! There’s cake in the kitchen!” Shaking his head in wonder at how a 19 year old could be so excited over New Years, Jaechul trails along after him. “Jaechul! Taehyung!” 5 other guys stand around the kitchen table, donning party horns and hats. Jin ruffles Jaechul’s hair, smiling down at him. “Happy birthday, and happy new year, Chullie.” Jaechul smiles in thanks as various other members of the small get-together congratulate him. His pocket vibrates with the ringing of his phone. Heading outside his one bedroom apartment, he dismisses the curious stares he receives.  
“This is Moon Jaechul. Who’s calling?” Tapping his foot impatiently, he asks again. “Who’s calling? Hello?” Jaechul reaches to end the call, when a voice he wasn’t supposed to hear again speaks.

“Wow, I honestly thought you of all people would recognise this number, Yoongi.”

The world stops. “Na-Namjoon,” Yoongi breathes. “You aren’t supposed to be alive.” Namjoon cackles over the other side of the phone. “You’re right, Yoongi. I’m not. And yet, it seems, God didn’t want me just yet.” Recovering himself, Yoongi starts. “Look, Namjoon, I don’t know how you found me, or why, but–” “Oh, come off the bullshit, bro. You know why I called you.” Yoongi grinds his teeth. “I fucking hate you, Yoongi, you know that? Hey, did you ever get your, you know, silver?” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m not involved in that anymore. And stop calling me Yoongi. That isn’t my name.” He states. “How sad. See, the thing is, Yoongi– God, I love saying that to piss you off– You owe me. A lot. So I’m cashing in on everything you owe me. Everything.” Yoongi’s fists clench in anger. “I don’t owe you shit, Namjoon, and you know it,” Namjoon laughs again, louder, and then stops. “I was 15, Yoongi. Fif-fucking-teen when you forced me to risk my life getting your stupid silver, or should I really say, cocaine?” Namjoon grows more hysterical with each word. “Look Namjoon, you did those things on your own. I never forced you; you came to me that night, begging to work for me. Don’t even begin to fucking try and pin everything on me, Namjoon. Now lie down, and go to sleep just like you used to.” Yoongi calmly whispers. This was getting out of control. Namjoon screams down the line. “No! Don’t tell me what to do, you fucking bastard! It’s your fault my sister died! It’s your fault Jaechul was murdered because you couldn’t handle the fact that Hana loved him! Him, not you! You owe me, Yoongi, because every single mark, welt, bruise, gunshot that I had to suffer for your so-called business– I was only 15, Yoongi.” Namjoon’s voice breaks. “I lost everything for you.” He clears his throat. “And I will cash in on everything you owe me Yoongi. Starting from now.” Yoongi starts to reply, but the line is cut. The conversation is done.  
“Goddamnit!” Yoongi shouts into the distance. Turning on his heel, he starts back towards the party but abruptly stops. “Ah, fuck. You didnt hear all that, did you hyung?” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair. Jin simply glares at him. “Who the hell are you, Jaechul? Or do I call you Yoongi? What do I call you? Were the past few years all a lie? Who is Namjoon?”

Yoongi is silent.

Jin inhales deeply, then nods. “I see. I guess clearly this relationship wasn’t as I thought it was. Yoongi, Jaechul, whatever the fuck your name is– I don’t want you here. I don’t want you around us. This Namjoon guy sounds dangerous, and I will not have your actions bring consequences to those boys.” Yoongi nods in assent. “Leave by 6pm tomorrow.” Yoongi can do nothing but watch as Jin stalks back inside.

God, how Namjoon loved the smell of weed sometimes. It was so satisfying; the slight sharpness of it combined with its soft, lulling scent– oh, he could get high off of that alone. It was so much better than the mollies he used to smoke at those dingy underground “parties”. Namjoon had upgraded. Moved on to better, more fulfilling stuff. “Light me another blunt, will you?” Namjoon’s half lidded eyes dart around the room. To any other person, you could stab his leg and he wouldn’t notice, but in actuality, his mind was on full alert. Hell, it was hard to ever relax when 90% of the people you knew and trusted wanted you dead. A blunt is put into his outstretched hand. Raising it to his lips, he inhales it deeply, holding his breath to let it settle in his lungs. The true effect of marijuana on him had long worn off a long time ago, but it was still satisfying every once in a while. Settling into a lull, Namjoon picks up his phone and dials a familiar number. “I told you not to call me when I’m out, man,” Namjoon shakes his head. “Just give me the details on our little druggie friend, Jungkook.” Namjoon liked Jungkook. He was fresh and cunning, and he manipulated people to his advantage. Regardless, he was still far from trustworthy in Namjoon’s eyes. Nobody ever was. Snapping out of his thoughts, Namjoon tunes back in to the conversation. “…So he apparently lives in this one bedroom apartment in this dingy part of Seoul– I’ll text you the map of it– got a bunch of pretty boy friends, one of them seems to have overheard the little heart-to-heart you and Mr Druglord had last night–”

“What do you mean by overheard?”  
“What it means. He overheard, so he knows, I guess.” Silence is heard over the line. “You want me to handle him for you?” Silence is heard over the line again. Jungkook smiled to himself. He hadn’t taken a life in quite a while.


	2. Memories & Blood Coloured Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does contain detailed descriptions of violence and blood so be warned!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have fun with this one lmao

Opening the wooden cupboard, Jungkook looks over the array of killing materials. Daggers, guns, penknives, swords; he almost salivated at the choice that lay before him. He mulled over it for a few seconds, then broke into a dangerously sinister grin. Picking up 2 jade edged daggers and a gun just for luck, Jungkook slips out into the early hours of the morning, night’s blanket not having left just yet.

Silently slipping into his sleek cruiser, he fished out his favourite mask; a decaying rabbits head painted on to it. Turning on the radio, Jungkook sighs as smooth jazz begins to soothe his ears. It always felt nice to be calm before the real fun began. Slinking through the maze that was inner city Seoul, Jungkook makes a few more twists and turns before pulling up to the apartment block. Checking the address, Jungkook nods before pulling the car over to somewhere more discreet. Stepping out, and hiding close to the exit of the building, he lies in wait, dagger in hand. Better to be silent now, and make noise later. Studying the lone body that exits through the doors, Jungkook tenses his muscles, ready to strike. A smile forms on his face as the description ingrained in his mind is correct. Short, pale skinned, hardened eyes, and a trademark beanie. Perfect. Jungkook waits for him to create reasonable distance, then, begins his hunt.

The second he left that apartment block, Yoongi knew he was being followed. He knew it when he noticed the pair of eyes watching him through the hedge next to the doors. He knew it when he saw the shadow following him as he walked to his car. He knew it that morning, when he was putting the last of his things away, and he saw the unfamiliar vehicle parked across from his window. So, unsheathing the knife he carried in the sleeve of his jumper, he stops walking. Turning around, he readies himself, weapon out, stance defensive. “How cute,” Yoongi spins to the left, but sees nobody. “It seems my prey came prepared.” Yoongi feels a tap on his right shoulder, and turns. Still no-one. Breathing heavily, Yoongi tries to make sense of what’s happening, but nothing comes to mind. His lungs feel clogged, and he bangs at his chest. Knife slipping from his hand, he falls to his knees, eyes widening, then fluttering shut at the foreign smell attacking his nose.

Throwing Yoongi into the backseat, Jungkook stretches, then walks back to the apartment block. Time for part 2. He takes the elevator, fixing his mask. Arriving at his floor, Jungkook walks to the final door on the right, and pushes. Perfect. It slides right open, and he surveys the messy open plan living room and kitchen in front of him. Taking a couple of steps inside, he sidles over to the couch, exactly where his target lies. He smiles again, caresses Jin’s cheek, and giggles a little, before stabbing a syringe into the most prominent vein in Jin’s neck. He counts to 5 on his fingers, then grunts as he lifts him up. Staggering somewhat, Jungkook manages to get him out of the apartment, where he swiftly drops him onto the concrete ground. Kicking Jin across the floor to the elevator, Jungkook whistles as he goes. After exiting the block for the final time, Jungkook, carrying Jin this time so as not to kill him prematurely, gently lays him in the car next to Yoongi, climbs into the drivers seat, and drives off to his destination.

Stirring, Yoongi opens his eyes. Looking around him, he dry heaves. There’s the overwhelmingly repulsive stench of blood in the air, and rotting limbs are strewn all over the place. There’s one window, impossibly high and way too small to let any real light in. His lungs feel choked up again, his chest feels tight, and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he _can’t breathe_ – and an inhaler is thrown at him from somewhere in the room. Scrabbling for it, Yoongi raises it to his mouth, pushes down on the top, and slowly relaxes as oxygen is pumped back into his system. Backing up against the wall, Yoongi fights not to retch again as a body, beaten and bloodied is thrown in front of him. Wait – squinting, Yoongi recognizes the familiar curve of his shoulders, one now hopeless out of place, he recognizes the lips that everybody doted on, now swollen and purple. He recognizes the hands ; the hands that lovingly cooked for everyone every Friday at his house, now broken and covered in cruor. Looking down at his own hands, he sees they’re trembling. And for good reason – the body laying across from him, bruised and beaten, is of his honourary mother, his closest friend. “Jin,” the word barely falls from his lips. Yoongi whimpers, crawls over to Jin, only to cry out in agony as excruciating pain travels up his legs. Looking behind him, Yoongi notices his legs are shackled; attached to the wall with metal cuffs. It’s the last thing he sees before all goes black again, and he’s lost to the confines of his mind.

* * *

 

_“I loved you so much, Hana,” he whispered as he stood over her mutilated body. Yoongi wasn’t one for love, or feelings of affection at all, really. But Hana was entirely different, in every sense of the word. She was kind and caring, and looked after everyone. She smiled at him every day, and, for once, cared to ask how he was. She was the sole person who got to know him properly. So it was natural for Yoongi to want to spend more time with her, to keep her to himself because Hana was **his** therapist, **his** friend, not anybody elses. Which was why there was just one person that he hated, despised, even– more than anyone else._

_Moon Jaechul._

_Why was he allowed to be closer to Hana than he was? Why did Hana look at him differently? Why was Jaechul allowed to hug her, laugh with her, love her– but Yoongi, poor old Yoongi , had to sit there and watch her give herself to someone else, someone who couldn’t ever give her anything she wanted like he could? Why was Hana allowed to use him, then betray his feelings as if what they shared never existed? Yoongi still remembers that day. The day it all happened._

_The voices weren’t saying anything at all that day. They hadn’t been for weeks. It was unnatural of them, but Yoongi shook it off. He was happy they were gone anyway; they’d simply get in the way of what he was about to do. He’d prepared a trail of Hana’s favourite flowers leading to him, waiting for her to arrive so he could confess his feelings. Feelings. A strange word for Yoongi’s vocabulary. But the word was there now, and he liked it. Feelings were warm. Feelings were good. Love, if he dared call what he felt for Hana that, was warm. Love was good. He’d even started getting off the cocaine just for her. After he confessed, he would stop the drug business and become an honourable man. Just for her. Just for Hana. With a smile on his face, and a hopeful heart, Yoongi walked over to the kitchen – the one place he knew she spent most of her time. He lightly pushed the door open, watching Hana’s mouth mold with Jaechul’s, the sounds of their light laughter like static to his ears —_

_—– and for the first time in eternity, the voices return. Yoongi’s vision clouds with red, and he **feels** , really **feels** — but it’s not good. It’s not warm. Feelings were cold. Feelings were bad. Love is cold. Love is bad. His hands are trembling, and they begin to bleed. Why? He asks himself. The voices answer, but it hurts his head so bad every time they speak. ‘Yoongi…’ It hurts. ‘What Hana did wasn’t very nice was it?’ It hurts. ‘Why did she kiss Jaechul like that? That’s mean. We don’t like it when people are mean, do we?’ It hurts Yoongi’s head, his ears. But the voices are gentle, and he doesn’t know why. ‘I said, Yoongi, we don’t like it when people are mean, don’t we?’ The pain grows stronger, and Yoongi only just barely manages to say a sentence. “No,” he sputters. “We don’t like it.” The pain recedes a little, and Yoongi can breathe again. ‘What are we going to do Yoongi? I think we should take revenge, right?’ A medley of other voices join in all chanting: ‘Take revenge.’ Yoongi doesn’t want to, but he stalks away and orders for a guard. Pulling the guard close, he whispers, “Take care of Hana and Jaechul. They are traitors to.me. To us.” The guard’s eyebrows raise in surprise, then he nods in assent. A few minutes afterwards, Yoongi can hear Hana’s screams. They’re like honey to his ears, and he chuckles as loud as he can in happiness as the red cloud clears and the voices finally go away. They return, however, to say one thing: ‘Say, Yoongi, where’s your silver?’_

_Opening his eyes, Yoongi looks down at Hana’s body again. He tilts his head. It almost looked beautiful like that. What with her pretty arms all bent out of shape, and her lovely face sliced and burned out of recognition. Bending down, he lays a kiss to her forehead before leaning to the charred remains of her ear. “If only you hadn’t betrayed me, my little flower,” he licks up and down her head, relishing in the burnt tang of kerosene, blood and the faint taste semi diluted hydrochloric acid. “Perhaps,” he moves down to her lips, “You would be with me, with everything you ever wanted.” He stands. “Not here, left to die like the insignificant life form you were.” he looks over at Jaechul’s corpse, his head beaten to a pulp, pieces of brain leaking out, part of his skull showing from where his face had burned off. “I always hated you,” he whispers before spitting at him._

He’s back.

Truly back, sleep dust at the corners of his eyes, voice husky and deep. The stench of ichor is even more prominent, and this time Yoongi can’t hold back the bile that rises through his throat. Retching onto the floor, tears streaming down his face, the perpetrator of this horror steps forward.

“ You know, I left him for you.” Yoongi’s head shoots up. “I didn’t want you to miss out on the fun, and now that you’re awake, we can start.” Yoongi tries, desperately tries to identify any familiar part of this masked marauder, but recognizes none. His eyes widen at the sight of the axe the male drags across the floor, the limbs he kicks out of the way landing uncomfortably close to him. Yoongi releases a strangled cry as the masked murderer rises the axe and slams it down into Jin’s unconscious body. The saccharine liquid that splatters everywhere is unbelievably bright. Yoongi begins to reach out his arms, then stops himself. Electrocution awaits that particular move. His eyes water when he hears the groans of Jin’s awakening, and the unmissable scream of pain when he realises just what’s happening to him. Yoongi curls up on himself when Jin screams again, and again, and again as the axe drives into his body once, twice, three times. The smell of fresh blood lies in the air, and for the first time in his life, Yoongi truly, wholly cries. He sobs into his arms and flinches as more of Jin’s blood lands on him. Jin’s screams and pleads echo in his ears, and his head hurts again, and— and please please _please_ don’t let the voices return —

— and then the screams stop.


	3. Guilt & Cowardice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: graphic descriptions of self harm ahead. Strong language (ofc), emotional manipulation and blackmail.

Looking up from his hunch, Yoongi whimpers. The slashed body of his once friend lies in front of him, the weapon used for his demise next to it. Pulling his sleeves down onto his hands to act as an extra insulator, Yoongi reaches for the axe, yelling through his teeth as the electrocution ravages him. He slams the axe onto the shackles, and it takes a few tries before he’s free. Dragging himself over to Jin’s remains, he hugs the body parts to himself, wailing in the darkness. “It’s all your fault, Yoongi,” Jungkook whispers to him. “Oh, how sad you look,” he sighs, “If only you’d at least tried to stop me, maybe I wouldn’t have killed him,” Jungkook’s voice resonates through his head. Maybe it really was all his fault. If only he’d broken the shackles in some way― no, he could’ve maybe stopped him by going towards him― he could’ve taken the pain, right? Why wasn’t he strong enough? If only he’d fought harder in that apartment block, if he’d only stayed behind longer, taken a little more time to pack his things away―

_―'You killed him, Yoongi.’_

Yoongi grabs at his head, the pain returning with full force. But there aren’t multiple voices this time. Just one. It whispers directly into his ears and gets louder, repeating the same statement:

_‘You **killed** him, Yoongi.’_

Yoongi scrabbles at his head, nails digging into his scalp deep enough to draw blood. He feels claustrophobic; the walls are closing in on him, and so is that mask, that goddamned mask―he can’t feel anything anymore. Jungkook is talking to him, but he can’t hear him at all. He doesn’t feel, doesn’t hear, doesn’t **function**. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but suddenly a jade edged dagger is shoved into his hands and looking up at Jungkook, he watches him make a slitting of the wrist motion on himself. His eyes dilate, and nodding, Yoongi starts a little further up his arms; inwardly cursing himself for being such a coward. He slices as hard as he can for what feels like hours, not feeling anything but a slight sting. He slices deeper, drawing more and more blood, but still nothing. “Why can’t I feel anything?” he whispers to himself, cutting deeper, scarring harder. He slices so much, the blood doesn’t look like blood anymore. More like jewels. Pretty. He wonders if this was what the guy in the mask saw when he was _doing something_ to Jin. Yoongi thinks he understands him, if only a little. The rubies, miniscule in size, keep spilling, spilling delicately out of his arm onto the floor, onto him even. “Do you see them?” Yoongi looks up, towards Jungkook, who’s moved next to him now. “Th-the rubies?” Yoongi asks, voice hoarse and raw. Jungkook nods, and removes the mask. “When you can see those, it means someone’s died because of you. Isn’t that amazing?” Jungkook smiles at him, and Yoongi’s tongue pauses nanometres from the roof of his mouth to formulate a ‘yes’, but he stops himself. What had he become? He looks back down at his arm, and sees no rubies. Just copious amounts of blood, blood, blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood in his hair, blood on his shoes, blood on his trousers. And this time, all over his hands.

Yoongi shakes his head, gritting his teeth and gripping his gushing arm as hard as he can, desperately trying to stop the blood flowing through his fingers. “It-It’s not amazing at all,” Yoongi begins, trembling all over. “He’s dead. He’s really dead. He’s **dead.** ” What begins as an emotionless whisper quickly rises into a hysterical, wail and cackle at the same time. The voice returns, repeating and repeating and repeating over and over and over. Those 4 words, that cut so deep every single time. “You’re a murderer, Yoongi,” Jungkook hisses. Yoongi nods, sobbing. “I don’t – I don’t want to be a murderer!” Yoongi repeats the phrase, howling and screaming, till the blood loss causes him to go unconscious once again.

Yoongi wakes up bandaged, reeking and feeling like shit. His scalp still throbs from the pain of his nails digging into it; running a couple of fingers through his hair seems a Herculean task in itself, as each strand disturbed, no matter how small, opens up another new scab. His right arm, he notices, has a dull ache from it. It’s surprising, he thinks, considering he almost cut deep enough to see bone. His hands, when he looks at them, are purple and bruised, some parts a little black. He assumes the cause of that to be the shackles. Rising up slowly from the comfortable bed, Yoongi turns to the edge, pushing his body up and off of it with the strength of an old man. Yoongi feels like he’s aged 60 years, but taking everything thats happened into account, Yoongi thinks, he wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Walking over to the door of the room, he manages to take a couple of steps before the pain in his legs and feet becomes too great for him to handle. Collapsing to the floor, he clenches his fists at the pain all over him, and the fact that he’s winded doesn’t do much to help. Having lost all will and strength to get up, Yoongi decides to lay there, waiting for the loss of breath to pass. The door opens a few seconds later, the worried face of Jungkook looking down at him. Dropping to his knees, he vigorously shakes Yoongi, doing something, anything, to keep him here, keep him breathing at least because the boss said so. Letting Yoongi die so early would throw a serious wrench in their plans. Killing Yoongi physically would come later. For now, ripping him apart mentally would have to suffice.

Leaving Yoongi on the floor, Jungkook rushes to the kitchen, digging through the larder before coming across his treasure. He had to stretch a little to reach it, but eventually managed to grasp it between his fingers. Pulling it out bit by bit, a grotesque smile stretches over his face, and he inwardly laughs, smirking knowingly at the farce that is to come.

Meanwhile, Yoongi, having regained his breathing, is still laid on the floor, having turned onto his back. Staring blankly up into the ceiling, the events of the past few days begin to plague his mind. The voices, although muffled, return, not to hurt him, surprisingly, but more to talk amongst themselves. Absentmindedly, he listens in, catching snippets of plans for the future that he knows will never come into effect. Drained, he shuts his eyes slowly, and goes back to a time before all of this. At least in his mind, he thinks, he’s safe.

_It’s raining._

_But the rain never bothered Yoongi. Rather, he found it quite comforting. What with always being alone these days, the constant unrelenting presence of the rain acted as a non-sentient friend, of sorts. He looks out of the dusty window, watching the raindrops roll down. He’s waiting, Yoongi is. Waiting for something, anything, to happen at least. It had been a few months since the deaths of Jaechul and Hana, and everything was quiet around him. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Nobody lived. And if they did, they weren’t truly alive anyway._

Turning away from the window, Yoongi moves to sit on the side of his bed. He exhales deeply, picking up the picture of Hana he still kept with him. Caressing the outline of her face, a feeling of longing courses through him, and he begins to reconsider his decision to have her disposed of. He stares at her chocolate brown hair, her wide smile, the curve of her nose and gets lost in her features. The door to his room opens and closes, but Yoongi doesn’t notice. He does notice, however, the resoundingly strong fist that collides with his jaw all of a sudden. “Why’d you kill them, Suga?” Looking up, Yoongi finds himself looking into the angry eyes of his newest and most faithful lackey, Namjoon. He didn’t trust the boy, but he had nobody else who knew him like he did, so he kept him alive. Reluctantly, of course. The tight grasp of Namjoon’s hands on his collar brings Yoongi out of his thoughts. “I asked you a question,” Namjoon grits out, emphasising each word. Smirking, Yoongi grips Namjoon’s wrists hard enough to force him to let go, then speaks. “They **deserved** to die, Namjoon, and you know it,” At those words, Yoongi can see he’s really pissed him off. He enjoyed seeing him like that, though. He found it fun pushing his mental boundaries like this, and he especially relished in the punishment he could always put him through afterward. Namjoon narrows his eyes in anger, then shoves Yoongi against the wall so hard he almost blacks out. “No, they didn’t, **Hyung,** ” Namjoon growls. Yoongi can’t help but laugh at the irony of the honorific. The laugh is quickly replaced with a frighteningly blank expression. “ **Anyone** who betrays us,” Yoongi begins, taking an assertive step foward, “In any way, **whatsoever** ,” Another step, this time with a shove, “Shall **pay** the **price.** ” His right hand curls around Namjoon’s neck and squeezes. “Simple,” he smiles as he watches him grow pale and struggle for air. Letting go after a painfully long minute, Yoongi kicks Namjoon to the floor. “They were my only family,” Namjoon coughs out. Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he questions. “But aren’t I your family too?” Namjoon has a long pause before answering. Unfortunately for him, it’s a little too long for Yoongi. Namjoon widens his eyes at the sight of blood leaving his mouth as he coughs profusely― the result of another forceful kick to the ribs. “Ye―Yes,” Namjoon whispers, unable to raise the volume of his voice. Yoongi watches as he struggles to bring himself up to his feet, almost kicking him down again for the hell of it, but decides against it at the last moment. Eye level, Yoongi looks directly into Namjoon. He sees his balled fists, shaking and pale at the knuckles. He sees his neck, and the red mark of his hand slowly fading. He sees his eyes, angry and cold, and **oh** how he loves the hate behind them.

_“You know, Namjoon, I always admired you a little. I liked how you were so desperate to be like me, I liked how hardworking you were. You were ruthless, kid. So what happened?” **You happened,** Namjoon wanted to say, but decided against it for his better judgement. Yoongi shoves Namjoon, waiting for an answer, but it doesn’t come. He watches, bemused, as Namjoon goes back the way he’d come, his anger now having simmered down. Yoongi sighed to himself, smiling wryly. “I really gotta dispose of him at some point,” Shutting the door and locking it this time, Yoongi goes to the mirror to assess the damage, but doesn’t bother looking. It’ll heal. Soon, he hopes. Returning to Hana, he stares, really stares at her, and can almost smell the charred skin again, and the blood, her beautiful, viscous blood that just wouldn’t stop flowing― and the smell of it is getting stronger, almost too strong, almost like Ji―_

Yoongi splutters and coughs and why, oh why is he back in the same place, the same disgusting cell with the axe being dragged and the rotting limb touching him and―and _Jin’s body_ ― and he can _hear the screams again_ and the spattering of the blood on the walls and Yoongi doesn’t want to be here anymore, make it stop, make it stop, make it _stop_ ―

Jungkook is disgusted.

He’d only meant to wake him up a little by using the pig’s blood, but seeing him reduced to the absolute mess in front of him was not was he was expecting. Jungkook groans. How did you even handle shit like this anyway? Maybe if he beat it out of him he’d come to his senses. He starts with the usual; punches here and there, the occasional kick to the face. But after 15 minutes of these repeated movements, Yoongi is still huddled on the floor, sobbing and sniffing and by _God_ , it’s pissing him off. He almost makes to leave but then remembers he has to keep him alive, and reluctantly stays. Jungkook glares at Yoongi’s quivering body, and thanks his lucky stars he never ended up working for him. Rubbing the nape of his neck in annoyance, he groans into the air at the buzz of his incoming phone call. “Who’s calling?” Jungkook hated phone calls. They made it easier for him to be tracked down, and even worse, arrested. “Who do you think, **boy,** ” Jungkook jumps, startled, then clears his throat hurriedly. “Sorry Boss, if I’d known it was you―” Namjoon cuts him off instantly. “You did fucking know it was me, you just didn’t bother to look at Caller fucking ID.” Jungkook winces. He knew he would especially be in for it when they next met up. “Did you take care of the situation?” Namjoon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Perhaps his disciple would manage to get this task correct. Beaming, Jungkook replies, “Of course, and more. Do you want me to explain how I killed him? It was so much fun; seeing his blood everywhere still gives me shivers,” Namjoon tunes out at this point. God, he knew the boy had a strange affinity to murder, a trait he sometimes admired, but surely even he had his limits when it came to describing death? Clearly not, and nonchalantly tuning in here and there―just hearing the little snippets themselves―were making him of all people, nauseous. “―What’s _he_ doing right now?” Jungkook pauses in his rambling, and gets to the point. Looking back at Yoongi, he skims over his body and notices no major differences. “He’s hunched into himself; been like that for the past 15 minutes? Its probably been half an hour by now though. Been saying some random bullshit, something about wanting it to stop, I’m pretty sure he’s _crying―_ ew― and he won’t stop doing whatever the fuck it is he’s doing, no matter how many times I hit him,” Namjoon ponders over Jungkook’s words for a moment, then nods to himself in understanding. “Jungkook.” he asks. “Exactly what did you do to him?” Namjoon growls down the line as Jungkook casually tells him he made Yoongi witness the murder. “You gave him PTSD you stupid, **stupid** boy.” Namjoon states, hints of uncontrollable anger laced in his voice. He didn’t like this. He knew he wanted Yoongi tortured slowly, but this would change his entire plan. Not what he wanted. Hissing, Namjoon takes a breath. “Fine,” he sighs. “I’m giving you six months to get him back to normal. I don’t care what you do to him during that period of time as long as that dumbass PTSD is gone. He’s probably faking it anyway, the sadistic fuck. Act like you care and he’ll stop crying.” Jungkook grunts in approval, waiting for more instructions.

“Also, Jungkook?”

“Yes?”

“6 months. Remember that.” Namjoon says, then cuts the phone.

Looking at Yoongi again, Jungkook goes over to him. Awkwardly rubbing his hand over Yoongi’s back, Jungkook tries to give some reprieve to the fallen ringleader. “Hey, um… are you feeling okay?” Jungkook receives no reply, only the continuous repeat of “make it stop” filling the room. “Do you… do you know where you are?” Regarding Yoongi’s expression, Jungkook takes his balled fists and guides them to the floor, lightly pressing them down. Shuffling closer to him, Jungkook presses his forehead to his, shutting his eyes. “Yoongi. Do you know where you are?” Jungkook questions again, applying pressure on Yoongi’s fists. “I-I’m on the floor, and I’m in your house, I think, and―and Jin is there and there’s blood―”

“Listen to me. Can you tell me what your name is?” Jungkook almost surprises himself at how calm he’s being. “Min Yoongi.” Jungkook relaxes a little. At least asking him simple questions helped. “How old are you Yoongi?” Jungkook goes on in this way, asking him simple questions, bringing him back one sense at a time, until he’s fully recovered. Leading Yoongi to the bathroom, he wipes his face down for him, and for the first time ever, sees the real Yoongi. Not Moon Jaechul, not Silver, more a sad, downtrodden, broken man. Jungkook wonders how his brown eyes can be full yet so empty at the same time, then pushes the thought to one side. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking of those things. Especially not about his victim. Taking his hand, he leads Yoongi downstairs to the kitchen before placing him at a kitchen table. Giving him a once over to make sure he’s still in the same state, Jungkook steals away to retreive the pig’s blood from earlier. Hiding it as he goes back into the kitchen, he opens the can, the stench overwhelmingly strong. Counting down, Jungkook waits for the inevitable.

_5._

It starts with the whimpering.

_4._

“Please, stop it,” Eyes darting around the kitchen, Yoongi watches his surroundings morph into the same dark, claustrophobic room he was once trapped in.

_3._

It’s followed by the shaking.

_2._

Yoongi watches the tremors in his hands, willing them, begging them not to rise and tear at his scalp again. He blinks― he thinks his hands are covered in blood again for a moment. The longer his hands shake, the more vivid the blood becomes with every open and shut of his eyes.

_1._

It crescendoes with the words.

_0._

“Stop it,” The words leave his mouth mechanically. And then the hairs on his body stand up, imaginary hackles raised. And then the smell appears. “Make it stop,” Yoongi says again, louder. The smell engulfs him, murdering him piece by piece. It’s so strong at this point Yoongi’s nauseous. He can feel the bile rising in his throat. “Stop it!” Yoongi shouts, body heaving at last. Tears collect at the corners of his eyes as Yoongi regurgitates the remnants of whatever all over the kitchen floor.

Whipping around, Jungkook storms over to Yoongi, one hand still holding the open can. “You sicken me. So much,” He growls, eyes twitching, mouth curving into an evil smile, before jamming his hand into the open can of blood and smearing it all over Yoongi’s face, laughing at his screams. Calming down, Jungkook grabs him by the hair. “Open your eyes, weak cunt,” Jungkook was livid, and loved it. “You killed Jin, understand? **You** murdered your **friend!** And if you tell **anyone,** not only will _I_ kill you, but so will everyone else you used to hang out with. Do you understand?” Jungkook yells, flecks of his saliva landing on Yoongi’s face. Jungkook only receives laboured retches and sobs as an answer. Slamming Yoongi’s head into the table, Jungkook repeats himself. “I said, **do you fucking understand?** Yoongi nods, adding a “Yes sir,” for good measure.

Jungkook swears under his breath, shoving Yoongi into the pool of his own vomit. He makes to leave, before adding one last thing:

“Clean that up.”


	4. Patience and Virtue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> light smut in this chapter but nothing too Wildt™ lmao anyway have fun with this 
> 
> also the italicised bits are like. points from Yoongi's past and as such make up who he is now, in a sense

Although it had been a long and dreary couple of weeks, Yoongi had very quickly gotten used to the idea of waiting. Waiting for food, waiting for drink, waiting for freedom -- no. The idea of freedom had long become a thing of the past during Yoongi's time in the place his heart wouldn't let him call home. 

Yoongi had become a recluse, of sorts. Leaving his room almost always began with abuse, be it verbal, physical, emotional; it always ended in him returning to his room, broken, with tears sliding down his cheeks. On occasion he would look out the window, then shrink back upon remembering his kidnapper's words. 

"I will tell everyone," 

The time Yoongi spends sitting in that room with only his mind to keep him company blurs together in an unrecognisable mesh of lost memories. It's littered with occasional visits from Jungkook, who's very presence is detrimental to Yoongi's own mental health. Sheer footsteps too close to his door, loud voices, even a raised hand; all triggering the anxiety attacks Jungkook used to help him with in the beginning, but now left him alone for. Oftentimes Yoongi would hear foreign voices resonating up into his room, but he didn't dare leave in order to identify them.

It's on one particular day, however, that Yoongi's blood runs cold as he hears one particular voice resonate through the walls. 

"How's he been?"  
"I didn't think you of all people would want to know, Boss."  
"Just answer the fucking question, Jungkook."

It made more sense as to why Jungkook had spent more time away from Yoongi, lately. And why the abuser had rarely said more than 3 words to him every time Jungkook went into his room. He should've expected it, somehow. Expected all of this, all he'd suffered through-- to be linked back to the one person who hated him most.

Namjoon.

The name reverberates through his head, consuming his thoughts, skin crawling at the very thought of his name. 

It's as if Yoongi can practically hear his light footfalls coming up the stairs, one by one, calm, collected, certain. Closer and closer they get, travelling to his door, twisting the handle--

But the door stays shut.

'I must escape,' The phrase permeates his empty thoughts.

"He's doing fine. Are you ready to see him?"  
"For some reason, I don't trust that you've kept him in top condition."  
"Ouch, Boss. And I thought we had something,"

The handle twists again, further this time--

'I must escape. I must go,' The phrase returns, again.

And still stays shut.

"Jungkook, I swear to fucking God--"  
"Alright! Alright, I'm opening the door for your beloved Rapunzel,"

'I must leave,' the thought appears in his mind again, but what can he do? Namjoon is already here, getting closer and closer, along with his own fated demise.

A final twist of the handle, the locks sliding in and out of place as the door finally, oh-so-painfully opens, revealing a mildly irritated Namjoon and a very excited Jungkook.

"Jungkook." The anticipation in Namjoon's eyes is replaced with thinly veiled anger, the bass of his voice carrying it in a low hum. 

"Yes." The smile had long since faded off of Jungkook's face, his lips coming to form a thin line as he realised just what kind of trouble he was in.

"Where," uttered Namjoon, being careful to control his breathing, in, out, in, out, "Is my revenge?"

 

Heartbeat ringing in his ears, feet running faster and faster, Yoongi's gulping in as much air as he can take, and as uncomfortable as exercise-- for the first time in a long time -- may be, Yoongi welcomes his laboured breathing with joy because not only is he free, he's alive.

He doesn't know where he's going, and as his legs scream at him to slow down, one underlying question finally rises. 

Just where was he?

Looking around, he'd realised. This was a completely different area, one he didn't recognise, with completely different people. This was not the Seoul he was used to. The longer he wandered, the darker the sky became, the more alone he felt. For a split second, Yoongi almost considered returning to Jungkook. But the unbridled retch he had to force down at the mere thought of it was what kept him walking.

The longer he wandered, the darker the sky became, and soon the open adrenaline and joy that had kept him going for so long simmered down to cold fear. Watching the bright, young, fresh, side of Seoul transform into the dark hotbed of sin he was so used to all those years ago gave him slight comfort. At least something out there was familiar. 

Yoongi walked and walked until his feet could carry him no longer. Deeper through alleyways, back streets, passing faces marred with fatigue and wariness. Finding an alleyway that didn't contain people who hissed at him was a task in itself, but after what seemed like an eternity, Yoongi curled up against an empty dumpster and waited for sleep to overtake him. 

_Rolling a Won bill and snorting a perfectly good line of coke gave Yoongi a feeling nothing could compare to. Pair that with a whole bottle of straight vodka, and he felt like he could do anything. Life was good here for Min Yoongi; he'd finalised a deal with another drug lord, which meant he could expand into larger areas, he was surrounded by women who fell at his feet (and his dick), and the continuous lines he kept snorting painted his vision with colours and fantasies far beyond his imagination._

_Getting up from the table in his secluded section of the nightclub, he weaves his way through the crowds as the loud music attacks his ears. He knows exactly who he's looking for, and the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile as he recognises the familiar silhouette of Hana. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he turns her around, pressing his lips to hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth, muffling her uncomfortable shrieks. His hands roam over her body, before he's shoved off and his cheek burns red from the slap he's just received. "Yoongi, what is wrong with you!?" She yells. Yoongi's eyes widen for a second, in shock, most likely, before he begins to chuckle, evolving into a full blown laugh. "I'm just having fun, babe," he says into her ear, "Maybe you should pull that stick out of your ass and try it sometime," before turning around and trying to pick a fight with anybody he saw._

_Random phrases of "What'd you say?" and "Who do you think you are?" pass by him as he feels the first punch against his jaw. He shouldn't have said anything anyway, but the dangerous mix of coke and alcohol coursing through his veins and permeating his brain give Yoongi all the strength he needs to take the pain as pleasure, and fight back as well. With a bloodied nose and a bruised jaw, Yoongi walks away victoriously happy, and ready to have those girls tend to his needs again._

_Entering the private room they'd moved to, the girls beckon him to come closer, their hands and fingers, Jesus, those fingers, roam over him, cupping, holding, playing, stroking him, bringing him closer and closer to the edge, his shameless groans getting louder and louder, often interrupted by a strained "Fuck," as the fingers are replaced by a hot, warm, mouth, sucking and swallowing every last bit of his release. Spent, and sated, Yoongi waves the girls off as he cleans himself up and strides out, the effects of the drugs beginning to wear off._

_God, it felt good to be in control._

The biting cold of the early Seoul morning is what wakes Yoongi up with a start. After sleeping rough for the past couple of weeks, always having to move to wherever his feet would take him after being moved on by whoever was heartless enough to force him, his instincts had become used to being able to run at the earliest possible moment. On this particular morning, however, the two people staring over him guardedly made him even more uncomfortable than usual. Curling into himself to conserve heat, while also being surprised they hadn't attacked him, given the amount of time they'd been staring, he quietly asks, "Who are you?" The pair above him, a boy and a girl respectively, look at each other, before the girl answers. "You can call us your new friends," She says, while plastering an unnerving grin on her face. The other one simply glares at him and signals to follow them as they turn and leave abruptly.

Just barely managing to keep up as they weave through alleys and streets and doorways he faintly remembered, Yoongi is teetering on the edge of falling when they finally stop at a place he didn't think he was ever going to see again. 

"I know this place," he whispers against the quiet.

"We know you do," they say in unison, before shoving him in deeper. 

The dilapidated wallpaper, the old smell of weed and alcohol and violence, the sofa in the corner of the room--this was home. Yoongi cursed himself for not realising sooner; no wonder the alleyways and streets they led him down seemed so normal to him--they were the same alleyways and streets he'd begun dealing on, the same alleyways and streets he'd begun hiring on, the same alleyways and streets he begun ruling and owning for himself. 

And now he was here again.

Walking towards the sofa, he runs his hands across it in disbelief. The comfortable feel of old, weathered, leather welcomed him as he sat down and relived a plethora of different memories all in one moment. Running his hand across the walls was next. He could almost feel the soft powdery texture of the cocaine he used to deal between his fingers as he recognises the remnants of the familiar substance staining the wallpaper. Tears almost brim his eyes from the happiness of being in his true home, but Yoongi forces them down for the sake of asking another question. "Why have you brought me here?" He's met with silence for a few, god-awful seconds, before the boy speaks. "Because, Suga," Yoongi stills at the mention of his old name. "It's time you came home." He'd be lying if he said he didn't know what they meant by that sentence, but he wanted to pretend, at least, that he'd still left that life behind when he ran away all those years ago, no matter how irritating of a reminder this was that it had never been left, nor had it died. 

"We know what they did, you know." 

Yoongi's eyes widen at the girl's words.

"We know what Jungkook and Namjoon did to your friend…" says the boy.

"What they did to you," says the girl. 

His skin crawls at the unwanted memories, but he finds himself interested in what they have to say.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asks, only to be met with silence once again.

"You can get revenge, all you have to do is say yes," they say in unison. It was really beginning to creep Yoongi out, how they kept doing that, but he knew the two had a point. He knew what they were asking, he knew they wanted him to return to that life; and although every bone in his body screamed no, his mouth replied with a clipped "Ok," because after all, if he wanted to take revenge for all that he'd been put through, he'd need to become the person he once was, no matter how painful it may be. Yoongi felt his stomach turn at the thought of ever going back; there was a reason why he'd left it in the first place, and having to face the demons he'd thought he'd put away seemed an unsettling concept for the Min Yoongi of now, a mere shell of the Suga he used to be.

The pair looked at each other and smiled. They'd missed their old boss, even if he didn't quite recognise them just yet.


End file.
